Harry Potter and the Secret No One Knew
by Kelpie Green
Summary: Harry's got a secret, secret allies, and is secretly taking control. A different take on the Harry is a girl idea. Rewrite of A Girl's Shape. Warnings: FemHarry, ManipulativeDumbledore, spoilers, slash, and at this point very AU.


So, sorry for makin' it all difficult for ya'll, but I couldn't stand the old version anymore. It wasn't this chapter specifically that bothered me ( I know the beginning looks all the same, but keep reading, there's more!); really it was how Harry's personality seemed to fluctuate and how in chapters not including Draco I skimped on the details and how everything was so short. Well no more! I vow here and now to put an end to the unreliable writing; to fix the fluctuations; to write in a flowing plot; to stop watching Robin Hood: Men In Tights. And I am working on Chapter 5, I am! Anyway, sorry for any inconvenience. Hope you like it.

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Chapter One

A Girl's Shape

During the summer I would go into the mountains behind our manor. I can remember when I was a child and my mother took me and everything was good. So I went to the mountains, alone then, during break.

It was something I counted on: my one piece of normalcy, of stability. Mountains are always there: solid, wonderfully, wonderfully solid and always, always there.

One day, that one day, was the one when everything came crashing down.

It was cold that morning and my toes were numb, despite the warming charm I used. Despite the Ministry, or perhaps because of it, I could cast such charms while away from school. Gold paves roads.

I am bitter.

I had climbed a ways and stopped. The mountain was quiet; the only sound was the shushing of the grass and a single, lonely tree. Pausing to catch my breath, I saw it. It was a person, on a broom, in a dive like a Wronski Feint. Only this was so much more. Not a maneuver, but a dance. I felt drawn to it . . . this wild beauty I had never seen, much like a moth to flames. It was not perfect.

I have seen perfection.

I have seen it in the shape of my mother: silky, blond hair; flawless, white skin; red lips; black gown. The Ice Queen. Cold and crazy. Yes, I could see it. My mother was descending into insanity. She walked the halls at night, talking and dancing with imagined specters and sweet, nostalgic music from far off memories.

My father, on the other hand . . . ha, my father. At one time I wanted to be just like him; it was my greatest aspiration. I wanted nothing more than for him to be proud of me. I wanted to be him I loved him so much. So I became perfect.

That is why I was drawn to it; the indescribable, beautiful imperfection; a dance in the air, in the center of a secluded mountain range. Drawn to what I was not.

Whoever was riding that broom, the dancer . . . I needed to meet them, desperately. Never had I needed anything so fiercely, my world was so small.

The rider touched down. They were small, in height and frame, dressed in black with black hair.

I drew closer.

Who was it?

I jumped back, burned by the very fire I felt enraptured by.

"Hello Draco." It was a girl. Pretty, I suppose, wild, with green eyes that glittered. I was frozen. I should have said something. I know it now. More's the pity I knew it then.

She sat down under the tree. "Join me," she said and patted the grass beside her.

I sat down and we watched the sky.

"Who are you?"

"You don't recognize me?" she asked, blowing a lock of hair out of her eyes.

"Should I?"

She sighed as if tired by it all. Instead of responding she lay down on the grass and looked up at the leaves of the tree above us; their shadow cast a pattern on her. I noticed she lay barefoot. I looked at her hand. It was fine boned, callused, and bore a faint scar that read, "I must not tell lies," that looked very familiar. As it should, I had only seen the same writing a million times at school. She said I knew her, this wild girl.

Black messy hair and tan skin; chapped, pink lips. But, something, something-something was peeking out from under her bangs. I brushed them aside impatiently. It was a scar, one that had been aggravated lately. It had the familiar zigzag shape of a lightening bolt.

I leapt up. There was no possible chance this was Potter.

"So you figured it out," came her—no, his voice.

"All right, Potter! What the hell are you trying to pull?" Everything was strange; the world, the universe had been overturned. My world crashed and fell into many strange, tiny jagged pieces, like those of a window or mirror.

He looked up, "Nothing."

"Don't lie! Are you hiding in fear of the Dark Lord?" I sneered. It was a pathetic insult, but an insult nonetheless.

The Gryffindor drew shapes in the grass. "The Boy-Who-Lived can't really be a girl, now can she?"

It clicked. And that is how my once most hated enemy became my best friend.

She came back after that. All summer long. Sometimes once a week. Sometimes twice. And sometimes not at all.

I never asked her why she came or why she was there in the first place. She never answered. Don't think I ever expected her to.

On the third week of our meetings I did something completely and utterly stupid.

I took her into the manor.

The manor is not my house and certainly not a home. Not my home, not even in public: never my home.

The manor was all entirely cold-white marble; icy slate and mirrors on every surface. An ice palace. One without wonderful surprises or a happy ending. But secrets and unmentioned promises, those we had too many, so many the manor nearly blew from the pressure. If it had I'm sure they would have blasted outwards; a swarm of black curses striking many a person before rebounding on my father. My father who would go to Azkaban for sure, smirking the whole way.

No amount of money can buy off that many judges and politicians. My father didn't care by that point- he knew his Dark Lord would come for him – eventually. And any of the manor's secrets would put him there.

Secrets in the entertaining room. A drop far under the perfectly white stone of the fireplace. Nothing to find but that long drop; seemingly never ending until you do and by then, well, too late.

Promises never kept slipped under the sheets of my parents' bed. Promises of never ending wealth and power whispered on a pillow and promises of fidelity and devotion screamed deep into the satin sheets. Promises pushed under the bed when a guest came to call.

More secrets on my mother's vanity- so many glass bottles, surely not all of them held nail polish. Not that she knew what they were. All she knew was something was there and for her that was enough.

Always just enough. Never anything more, never anything less, and she was content to never look further.

Why would she?

It wouldn't have made a difference when my father was incarcerated.

Didn't make a difference when she saw things that weren't there.

Didn't make any difference what so ever when the Dark Lord saw no purpose in keeping her.

The Goddamn bastard.

I brought Harry into the manor, too caught up in out pretend adventure, the one we'd never been allowed to have as children. The adventure you can only have with a best friend that you never pretend to be anything for, the one you never lie to and always trust. The friend and adventure my parents never allowed me. Only one thing could make it complete – having someone over for no reason at all. Not as a guest; not as a political ally; not to curry favors from.

We crept through the back door- the secret entrance that every old building has- the house elves' entrance.

Pressed our bodies flat against the wall, nary enough to leave a shadow.

Snuck up the staircase, hiding from those that weren't there.

Raced to my room, putting all our effort into winning until we remembered we were being quiet.

Played all manner of games, gobstones, exploding snap, chess, as well as with a miniature snitch.

But then the snitch flew out of my door. We followed it, Harry and I. Through room after room after room- dodging past statues and paintings and cursed ornaments alike. Chasing and chasing. Shouting, "I'll get it," and, "no you won't."

Suddenly we stopped: we stood completely still, our pursuit of the snitch forgotten. Still like two statues in the middle of the hallway. Soft music wound around and past us with my mother in the center of it all, twirling and hopping. She danced so wildly she should have fallen, although she never did.

The haunting song twined through the hallway and so did my mother.

We stood there for a long time after she disappeared. Completely frozen. Reality found us and hit both our heads. Reality's hard to hide from when it won't let go. We walked back to my room. And the whole way there I imagined I could hear the questions buzzing around in Harry's head. If she'd asked them I might have hit her.

We reached my room and Harry picked up her broom and flew out the window.

She didn't come back for a week.

A week before school started she disappeared. I shouldn't have worried, but I did. Somehow she weaseled her way into my life. And when she was gone it felt like a part of my self I'd never noticed was missing.

When I saw her on the train my heart thudded erratically and jumped into my throat. Wasn't even looking for her, didn't need the trouble, didn't want it. And I found her anyway. It was funny. I'd become accustomed to seeing her rather than him. Different face, different persona.

While I stood there in shock Harry chuckled.

"Dark Lord got your tongue, Malfoy?"

It was on. " Yes actually, so if you'd be so kind as to return it . . ."

Weasley made a growling noise like some kind of animal. Granger glared at him, surprisingly, and pulled on his arm. "Just forget it Ronald," and shoved past with out so much as a by-your-leave. Harry brushed past me as she left, her shoulder thumped mine and her hand dropped a note.

I waited until she left. It read:

"D-

Tonight. Room of Requirement.

H."

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See, so it'll be sorta routine, I guess.

Continue? No? Yes? Input is appreciated.


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